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momotonescreaming · 1 year

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Continuing my trend by writing soft clarkson doing date-like activities and not calling them dates. Scott invites Wayne over for dinner. Wayne thinks about home. (2.8k)

Wayne felt a bit out of place, going to Scott’s house. Like a kid playing dress up in his Daddy’s shoes — it didn’t fit quite right. Scott always made sure to welcome him inside graciously and happily, always offering him something to drink. But a nice house in the suburbs always seemed like it was never in the cards.

He was born in a trailer park, and he had resigned himself to dying in one too. The fact that he now lived in a different trailer, in a different state, didn’t matter much. It was still a trailer. It was his home of course, and he had filled it with things he liked. His caps and hats. His ever growing mug collection. But it would never be a house.

If a man like Wayne Munson was in a house that nice, it would be to fix the plumbing. Do a job. Work.

He didn’t know how Eddie did it, going to Steve’s big Loch Nora mansion by the woods and proceed to stay there comfortably. How did he not float through the halls like a ghost, nervous to touch anything should he knock it over? How did he not hover in doorways, waiting to be invited in? How did he not worry that his mere presence would stain the hardwood floor?

Or maybe that was just Wayne.

It wasn’t Scott that made him uncomfortable, no. The man couldn’t be more comfortable if he tried. It was the fact that Scott owned his house, and Wayne rented the land the trailer was parked on. Scott went to college, Wayne had to work to earn money to help out his family. Scott had spare rooms and an attached garage, Wayne slept on a cot in the living room so he could give Eddie the trailer’s only bedroom.

He would never begrudge Scott for it, it wasn’t the man’s fault, he did nothing wrong. The differences just didn’t feel quite as stark between the trailer park and the rest of Hawkins until he had to face it head on. Until he was standing on the doorstep of Scott’s house, ringing the doorbell, looking at the tidy garden and clean brick exterior.

Scott had invited him over for dinner — apparently he had been slowly working his way through a recipe book he had gotten for his last birthday, and there was one dish he had been dying to make. Had been dying to show Wayne.

So Wayne had swapped shifts at the plant to free up his evening, and found himself hovering on Scott’s doorstep in the suburbs. He had worn his best flannel, fabric soft and sleeves rolled down underneath his jacket. His jeans were old, slowly wearing thin, but still without the holes and oil stains that plagued almost all of his other pairs. Before he left, Wayne had debated asking Eddie if he was dressed too casually for dinner, and very quickly decided not to. Eddie would never let him hear the end of it.

He could hear Scott shuffling around inside over the sounds of softly playing music. Heart clenching in his chest, Wayne could feel his pulse start to quicken as Scott approached the door. It was getting hard to tell whether it was the anticipation of seeing Scott again, or nerves at the thought of going into his house and breaking that unspoken barrier. Bottle of wine clutched tightly in his hands (red, because Scott said he liked it better), Wayne waited for the door to open.

The door opened with a click of the lock and the rattle of keys. And then there was Scott. Hair tidy with not a strand out of place, moustache neatly trimmed, laugh lines crinkling as he smiled. He grinned as soon as he locked eyes with Wayne, and Wayne smiled softly back.

Scott was wearing one of his trademark sweater vests — this one a deep emerald green — over a pale shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It looked soft, and well fitted, and Wayne wondered what it would feel like underneath the rough callouses on his hands. If he were to place his palm on the small of Scott’s back, would he be able to feel his body heat through the thick wool?

He felt a little under dressed in comparison, in his flannel and denim jacket. Even if Scott did have an apron over top of his vest, a few stains down the front and ‘KISS THE COOK’ written in curvy white writing. Wayne wondered what it would be like if he could do just that.

What would it be like, to cradle Scott’s face in his hands, feeling his smooth clean shaven jaw under the rough pads of his finger? Would Scott smile as Wayne leaned in to kiss him, would he feel it against his lips? Would his moustache scratch his upper lip, or would it be soft?

Would Scott kiss him back?

“Wayne!” Scott exclaimed, shaking him out of it. “You’re here!”

“Not too early am I?” Wayne replied, furrowing his brow. He’d hate to be an imposition. His Ma had drilled it into him, to be hospitable, and kind, and not to bother people who didn’t need to be bothered. Manners. Respect those who respected you. His brother didn’t learn a lick of what their mother taught them, but Wayne tried to take it on in kind.

“You could never,” Scott replied, still smiling. He awkwardly brushed off his apron, the barest hint of a flush on his cheeks. “I just wish I had a chance to clean myself up a bit first.”

“It’s no bother to me.” Wayne said back. He was cute. Scott was cute. Maybe one day he could tell him. Holding out the bottle of wine, Wayne cleared his throat. “I brought this. Hope it tastes alright.”

Neither him or Eddie were much into wine. Even Steve preferred beer. So Wayne had spent entirely too long in the wine section of the supermarket, comparing different types of red wine at different price points. He couldn’t afford much, but he didn’t want to show up with the cheapest bottle he could find, either. Not when he was going round to Scott’s house, instead of the trailer. It felt wrong.

“Oh,” Scott exclaimed, eyes widening just a little in shock. He carefully took the bottle from him and Wayne could swear he felt a shock as their fingers brushed. “Thank you. You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“Felt rude not to.” Wayne said with a shrug, trying to feel like he wasn’t being put under a microscope. But before he could say anything, Scott ushered him inside, shutting the door behind him.

As expected, the house was nice.

Wayne toed off his shoes, placing them on a shoe rack that Scott had in the entry way. There were a few of his own shoes upon it — some worn sneakers, some nicer loafers and dress shoes that he must wear to work. Wayne tried not to soften at the sight — of their shoes sitting next to one another on the rack — and pushed down the butterflies in his stomach. He slowly removed his jacket, watching as Scott lead him further into his house, wine cradled carefully in his hands. His socks were striped.

From what little Wayne knew about furniture, and interior decorating, he could tell that Scott had put in a fair amount of effort into keeping his home in good taste. And yet it all felt very him. The couch looked plush and comfortable, with vaguely matching cushions and a crocheted blanket thrown over the back. The art was tasteful, but not gaudy. One painting looked rather like a galaxy.

There were still lines from the vacuum cleaner in the carpet. Scott had cleaned up, just for him.

It was all very different to the trailer.

There weren’t corners of wallpaper peeling off of the walls. There weren’t scuff marks from when Eddie had kicked off his shoes too aggressively, or thrown his schoolbag, or dropped an amp. The door didn’t squeak.

You could tell that most of the furniture, Scott had bought new. He didn’t have to go sorting through thrift stores, or scouting front yards for a cheap couch.

Wayne hovered, jacked draped over his arms, waiting for guidance from Scott. He didn’t want to put it down somewhere he shouldn't, sit somewhere wrong or not allowed. He didn’t think Scott would be mean to him, look down on him at all. He just felt out of place.

He wanted it all to go right so bad, he couldn’t bear the thought of it going wrong.

“You can put your jacket down anywhere,” Scott added, as if sensing Wayne’s churning mind, slowly heading towards the kitchen. “Sorry, I should have said.”

“It’s alright,” Wayne said, carefully folding his jacket and draping it over the back of the couch. He could feel Scott following the motion with his eyes. He coughed. “Thank you for invitin’ me.”

“It was my pleasure,’ Scott replied with a genuine smile. Placing the wine on the kitchen Island, he gestured for Wayne to take a seat on one of the stools there before turning to the cupboards in search of a couple of wine glasses. “Dinner isn’t quite ready yet, I’m afraid. But a glass of wine to start never hurt.”

Wayne let himself soften when Scott’s back was turned, eyes crinkling with a slight smile. The kitchen wasn’t as neat as the living room Wayne passed, used bowls and bottles and various utensils piled up next to the sink. In between all the dinner mess, was a small collection of mugs. He squinted to read them. One was simply designed to look like a beaker with a handle, another one had the caffeine molecule on it. The last read I’M A SCIENCE TEACHER. JUST LIKE A REGULAR TEACHER EXCEPT COOLER.

Wayne’s heart ached at the sight. Eddie had often joked that the quickest way to his heart was through a dorky mug, and maybe that was truer than either of them thought. They were just so very Scott Clarke. So fitting and unapologetically him. He could imagine him getting one as an end of year present from a student, a birthday gift from a friend, smiling as he unwrapped it.

Before he could let his mind wander further, Scott placed the two full glasses of wine on the counter in between them. Wayne took his with a thanks, Scott holding up his own.

“Cheers,” Scott said, gently titling his glass towards the other man. Wayne clinked their glasses together, and they both took a sip. Not bad, all things considered, for a cheap bottle of wine Wayne didn’t know anything about. He followed Scott’s motions as he took a sip of his own, finding himself almost absent mindedly staring at Scott’s lips. Now faintly pink and stained with wine, Wayne wondered if he would taste it if he kissed him. “Good choice. I’ll have to remember this brand.”

Wayne was almost proud, that Scott had liked his choice. He could feel it settling under his ribs, slowly writing. A small unnamed thing. Pride and happiness and unbearably fond.

A timer on the counter rang, and Scott whirled around to the stove — stirring pots and checking something that was roasting in the oven. It smelt delicious. The ties on the apron whirled around with him, and Wayne could see that it was tied in an almost perfect bow.

Never one to fill space with empty talk, he was content to sit in silence and watch. Following as Scott dipped his finger into a pot of slowly simmering sauce. Scott tasted it, mumbling to himself, before adding small sprinkles of various herbs and spices he had littering the counter top. He imagined that Scott cooked a lot like he did science — exact measurements and constant small adjustments until it was just right.

“Shouldn’t be too long, I think.” Scott says, turning back towards Wayne, picking up his glass and moving out of the way a bit more. “Hopefully it tastes alright, I’ve never made this before.”

“We’ll find out together,” Wayne says, watching as Scott’s face almost lights up at the words. He feels the unnamed thing writhe in his chest again, curling under Scott’s smile.

Scott thanks him, smiling all the while, and Wayne silently watches as he finishes cooking. Grabbing plates out of the cupboard — plain white, perfectly round, no chips or cracks — and gently placing them on the counter. Unlike all of the kitchenware in the Munson home, which was mismatched shades of yellow, brown, and green — from different sets that had slowly combined over the years. A chip from when Eddie dropped a plate in the sink, a small crack in a bowl they were hoping wasn’t going to get worse. Scott looked like the type of person to have all his plates and bowls match, neat and clean and put together.

He wondered what it would be like for all their things to be combined together, plates sitting in stacks in the cupboards — stark white mixed with brown. His science themed mugs mixed in with Wayne’s, displayed on shelves, made to be seen. Would they fit together, their tastes mixing seamlessly? Or would it look like a college dorm, two people forced together, room split down the middle. Water and oil.

“Smells delicious,” Wayne says, breaking his silence as Scott opens the oven, the scent of herbs and spices and perfectly cooked meat wafting through the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be, what fancy recipe Scott was trying to recreate, but it smelt amazing. Better than anything Wayne could recreate in his own lacklustre kitchen.

“Thank you,” Scott replies, starting to put all his various components together on the plate. Meat and veggies, and that sauce he had been brewing. His cheeks were barely flushed, and Wayne wondered if it was the heat of the oven that caused it, or something else. Someone else. He wouldn’t dare assume it was him, but he could hope. “I’ve set the table already, so grab a plate.”

He watched as Scott reached behind him to untie the apron, cleanly lifting it over his head and hanging it on a nearby hook. Without the apron in the way, the sweater vest looked even softer.

Wayne carefully balanced his plate in one hand, his glass in the other, and followed Scott to the dining room table. Sturdily built, made of a dark wood, with six matching chairs. He tried not to think of his own rickety metal table, barely seating three.

Scott had already laid out place mats, matching cutlery sets by each one, set at the corner of the table. There’s even a centrepiece — a vase in swirling shades of blue and green. It was nice, much nicer than anything Wayne could set out. He wondered exactly how much effort Scott put into this, or was this all just stuff he had already. Did he go out of his way to make this nice, just for Wayne?

They placed their food on the table, took their seats, and Wayne followed Scott’s lead as he picked up the cutlery.

“Dig in,” Scott said with an almost eager anticipation. Lips pursed together and eyes following Wayne’s movements as he went to take a bite. “Tell me what you think.”

He tried to take a small portion of everything, dragging the bite through the sauce before carefully bringing it to his mouth, trying not to drop sauce on his pants. Not when Scott was watching him so intensely, breath held as he waited for Wayne’s reaction. He’s not sure if anyone had looked at him like that before.

The meat melted in his mouth, combining with the vegetables and the sauce in a way where all the flavour intertwined in such a way that never quite happened when Wayne cooked. It was delicious, and Scott had cooked it just for him.

He looked up and Scott was looking at him almost bashfully, eyes twinkling, holding back a smile.

“Good?” Scott asked anxiously, as if he was afraid of putting the wrong words in Wayne’s mouth.

“Delicious.” Wayne said, swallowing his bite. Watching as Scott exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He was smiling at him, and Wayne couldn't help but smile back. Ease his worries. “Restaurant quality.”

“Now you’re just flattering me,” Scott teased, taking his own bite. They continued to eat, easing in and out of a comfortable silence. Chatting about their days, eating dinner, no pressure at all.

Wayne thinks. The house doesn’t seem as intimidating now that he’s in it, now that he’s seen the little touches of Scott throughout. The dorky apron, the crocheted blanket on the couch, the science themed mugs. Now that he’s with Scott, eating dinner together. Just the two of them.

He thinks about Eddie. Maybe Steve’s big house doesn’t seem as intimidating simply because it’s Steve’s.

#wayne munson #scott clarke #clarkson #stranger things #stranger things fic #my writing #idk what this is it just happened #im in my clarkson feels

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trashno0dle · 10 months

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so there's a lot of speculation whether or not they're gonna have mike be michael or not in the fnaf movie. and so far even i thought it was pretty unlikely considering the little things we've been shown. but now that the full trailers been revealed there's something that caught my eye. and maybe i'm puling a matpat here and over analyzing one little frame but. just hear me out alright. so in the little snippet we see of a phone call between mike and william, it's pretty normal and well, there's nothing to show that they know each other. clearly mike doesn't know who he's talking to, he just wants a job.

and honestly for me i was losing hope that they were gonna have mike be revealed to be michael. since initially i thought this was just them confirming that he's not since, surely if he was michael then he'd recognize his fathers voice? but. that might not be the case.

my theory/speculation for the route they're going (again, emphasis on the theory i'm not saying this is 100% canon) is that it's heavily implied there's going to be SOME kind of flashback with mike as a young teenager, since a boy was cast and listed as "young mike" too. and this information about his character given back when casting for the roles were announced.

"riddled with guilt over a tragedy in his past" which only further strengthens the possibility of a flashback to the bite of 83 where michael pranked his brother and inadvertently caused his death. it's the aftermath of this event with determines how this theory could work. either, william and his wife divorced shortly after, and his wife got custody of mike - they married into another family, the schmidt's. this could lead to abby either being his step-sister or his half-sister.

OR. mike was taken away from william either because of the bite or because the police were heavily suspicious that william was responsible for the missing children. he was put into the system and adopted by - again - the schmidt's. and the reason he doesn't remember anything is because the trauma and the guilt from the bite of 83 and the death of his little brother caused him to heavily repress those memories and in turn, a lot of others (william) without realizing.

so mike doesn't recognize william's voice here. but william?

this is the frame that caught me here. his expression, the subtle smile on his face. the gears are turning in his head, something clicked.

what if william was keeping tabs on mike this whole time? and he carefully plotted to ensure he got the job at freddy's. for reasons unknown. maybe he just wanted to mess with him, make him remember everything he repressed from his childhood - he's trying to get him to remember by bringing him back to the place where it all started. he remembers his son, but mike doesn't remember his father.

BUT that's just me i'm a little insane. anyway i needed to make this post and write down my thoughts or i'd explode.

#i think theyre making us think mike isnt michael #theyre misleading us on purpose #so that when it is revealed. it hits a little harder #thats just me anyway #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #william afton #michael afton #mike schmidt #fnaf theory #sorry guys idk what happened here i think i got possessed by matpat #pre fnaf movie #pre fnaf movie theory

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